


How Can The Only Thing That's Killin' Me Make Me Feel So Alive?

by where_havealltheflowers_gone



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Episode Related, Forced Prostitution, M/M, Mickey/Lip brotp, Protective!Mickey, Recovery, Relapse, Sad, cliff hanger, no happy ending, so much sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 01:32:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/where_havealltheflowers_gone/pseuds/where_havealltheflowers_gone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're sick, Ian.  This shit isn't gonna stop that." </p>
<p>"The only sickness I ever had was you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Can The Only Thing That's Killin' Me Make Me Feel So Alive?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ayoungrat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayoungrat/gifts).



> because Willow kinda asked for a fic where Ian does meth

Mandy popped her gum one more time, eyeing Mickey from where she was leaning against his doorframe.  

 

"The fuck are you starin' at?" he griped at her as he licked his finger to seperate a couple of bills he was counting. 

 

She snapped her gum again, instead of answering. 

 

"Stop fuckin' doin' that.  It's annoying as shit."

 

She took a step closer, blowing a bubble and letting it pop, gum falling from her mouth and landing on the carpet.  

 

"Fuckin' Christ, Mandy.  What the hell do you want?" 

 

She settled on Mickey's bed, close enough to his face that he could see the gold specks in her eyes.  "They found him," she rushed out in one breath as she forced a crumpled piece of paper in his hand.  

 

Mickey glanced at the address scrawled on it.  "Found who-" he started to ask, but when he looked up Mandy was gone.

 

****

 

A pounding on the door had Lip jolting awake much sooner than he wanted.  He stumbled from the couch to the front door, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand.  "M' comin'.  Jesus."  He yanked it open.  "Mickey?" 

 

Mickey held a scrap of paper between his fingers.  "This where he really is?" 

 

Lip squinted at it.  "The White Swallow, yeah.  Bartending."  He stepped out onto the porch, pulling the door closed behind him. 

 

Mickey chewed on his  lip as he stuffed the paper into his coat pocket.  "How's he doin'?" 

 

Lip pulled a joint and lighter from his pocket.  "He's in bad shape," he mumbled around the weed in his lips as he lit up.  

 

"He on some hard shit?"

 

Lip shrugged, blowing smoke and offering it over to Mickey.  "Somethin'.  I dunno.  I only saw him for a minute." 

 

"What'd he say?" 

 

"Whole lotta bullshit.  None of it made sense." 

 

"Think he's got whatever your mom had?" 

 

Lip gave him a confused look as he took his joint back.  "How the fuck do you know about Monica?" 

 

Mickey swiped his thumb across his bottom lip and looked away from Lip.  "I know you know we didn't just fuckin' work together," he said after a long minute.  "Everything that happened..."  he trailed off, a hand making its way up to run through his dark hair.  "I dunno.  It was fucked up.  I feel responsible.  I wanna make sure he's okay."  

 

"You really think he'll wanna see you?" 

 

Mickey snorted.  "M' sure he won't.  But I gotta know." 

 

****

 

Mickey cringed as he walked down the narrow staircase.  Some music Ke$ha song was playing (fuck you, Mandy plays that shit loud, okay), and the lights were flashing so much, it was making him dizzy.  

 

He spotted Ian almost the second his foot hit the sticky concrete.  He sauntered up to the bar, grabbing a stood and scooting it closer so he could plop down on it.  

Ian's eyes widened when he saw the Milkovich sitting there.  "Mickey!" he exclaimed over the music.  He reached across the bar and fisted his hands in Mickey's coat, pulling his forward and planting a sloppy kiss on his lips.  Mickey was dropped back onto his seat a second later and Ian was back to bustling around behind the bar.  "You wanna drink?  M' gonna make you a drink.  How 'bout orange juice and Jack?  You remember that day you were gonna shoot Frank?"  He looked at Mickey like he expected an answer. 

Mickey shut his mouth- which he hadn't realized was hanging open- and nodded mutely. 

 

Ian laughed, his grin splitting his face, like he was the old Ian and Mickey couldn't breathe.  "Well, that day he stole orange juice and Jack from the store.  Man, how is the store?  Still there?  Do you still work there?  What have you been doing?  How's Mandy?"  He set a glass down in front of Mickey and promptly walked away to mix a drink for someone else.  Who, Mickey had no fucking idea because he was the only person sitting at the bar.  

 

Ian returned a moment later.  "Sorry.  We were talking.  I forget things sometimes.  Hey, I get off in like twenty minutes.  You wanna go out with me?  Or to the gym?  You look like you've been working out." 

 

Mickey just nodded again, not knowing what to say. 

 

Ian grinned, old Ian's grin, and rapped his knuckles on the countertop.

 

****

 

"God, I feel so alive!" Ian shouted, arms thrown wide as he twirled down the sidewalk.  "Let's go to Johnny's." 

 

Mickey walked faster, trying to keep up.  "Hey, uh.  Gallagher?" 

 

Ian pivoted so he was facing Mickey, his head cocked to the side in question.

 

"I was kinda hopin' we could go somewhere and talk or something." 

 

Ian bent at the waist, cackling.  "You wanna talk?  Really?"  He straightened up.  "Priceless. C'mon.  I wanna get wasted.  I needa hit." He reached over and tugged on Mickey's wrist.  

"Hold on.  Just.. slow down, okay?" 

 

"You and your little legs can't keep up." Ian threw his head back, laughing at his own joke.  "Little legs.  Ha, get it?  'Cause you're short." 

 

Mickey rolled his eyes.  "I get it." 

 

Ian did slow down, though.  "How's my family?  Do they miss me?  I sure miss them."

 

"Why don't you go home then?" 

 

Ian stopped, gazing ahead of him.  His facial expression shifted from joyful to frightened.  "I.. I can't do that."  He chewed on the inside of his cheek, glancing to his side. 

 

"Why not?" Mickey moved so he was standing in front of Ian, gripping his biceps.  "Why can't you go home, Ian?  What shit are you on?" 

 

Ian looked down at him then, his nostrils flaring.  He shoved at Mickey roughly.  "Fuck you, I'm not on anything." 

 

"Who are you getting it from?" 

 

"Fuck you, I-" 

 

"Ian." Mickey shook him, hard.  "Tell me what you're on.  S' speed, isn't it?  You're a fuckin' methhead."

 

Ian pushed Mickey's hands away, walking a few steps ahead before he spun around.  There were tears in his eyes.  "Look, just.  I'm sorry for bein' nasty.  I'm not.. M' not an addict or anything crazy like that.  I could stop whenever.  I just need somethin' to get through the day sometimes.  It's not a big deal, okay." 

 

"How are you taking it?" 

 

Ian took a step towards him.  "Look, Mick-" 

 

"How are you taking it?" Mickey repeated, growling slightly.

 

Ian started to pace, hands flying around wildly.  "At first, I was snorting.  But it works so much better with a needle, ya know?  So.  I only have one mark, so it's not like it's a big deal."  He pushed up his sleeve to reveal a knot on the inside of his elbow.  "See?  No biggie." 

 

Mickey closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose.  "How often?" 

 

Ian tugged his sleeve back down and shrugged.  "Every couple hours." 

 

That gave Mickey pause.  "Every couple hours?   **Hours**?  Even at work?" 

 

Ian chuckled.  "No, goofy goober.  That's why we gotta go to Johhny's.  So I can get a hit.  He gives it to me free, if I fuck him.  Let's go." 

 

"Gallagher..." 

 

"C'mon.  You'll like Johnny.  Maybe he'll give you some coke.  He's a nice guy." 

 

"M' not fuckin' going with you.  And you're not going either." 

 

Ian's eyes darkened.  "You can't tell me what to do." 

 

"Come back with me.  Your family misses you.  They need you.  Let me take care of you.  Please, just."  Mickey's voice broke.  "Let me help you, Gallagher." 

 

Ian blinked at him.  "Why are you so sad?"  He reached for Mickey's hand.  "Shh," he cooed.  "Don't cry.  S' gonna be okay." He wrapped his arms around the shorter man, crushing Mickey to his chest.

 

Mickey pushed at him.  "Damn it, Gallagher.  You're burnin' up." 

 

Ian put his own hand to his forehead.  "Funny.  I feel just fine." 

 

"Come home with me." 

 

Ian laughed.  "S' that a pick up?  You're gonna have to come up with something better."  

 

"You need to stop usin' this shit." 

 

Ian sighed dramatically.  "This conversation is boring.  M' going to Johnny's." 

 

Mickey wrapped his fingers around Ian's wrist.  "No, you're not.  You're not gonna pimp yourself out for a fuckin' fix.  I won't let you." 

 

"Let go of me," Ian gritted out," or I'll break every last bone in your tiny fucking body." 

 

Mickey tightened his grip.  "Try it." 

 

Ian's face shifted.  "Ow!" he cried.  "You're hurting me!  Please, let go!  You're breaking my wrist.  Mickey, please!"

 

Mickey dropped Ian's arm like it was burning.  "M' sorry.  Lemme see it-" 

 

Ian laughed.  "You're so gullible, Mick."  He swiped at his eyes.  "Thanks for comin' to visit.  Don't be a stranger."  He took off running at full speed, ducking into an open door when Mickey chased after him.  

 

"Shit," Mickey grumbled as he took a step into the building.  He pulled his gun from the back of his pants.  He heard voices talking and laughing upstairs.  He took the steps slowly, trying not the make any noise.

 

"M' gonna take care of you," an unfamiliar voice purred.  "But you gotta give me what I want first." 

 

Mickey made it halfway up.  He could see everyone in the room, but they couldn't see him.  

 

A big, ugly guy had his arms wrapped around Ian.  Several other people were strung out around the room, most of them with needles in their arms.  

Ian whimpered.  "Do they have to watch?" 

 

"Hey," one man called from a rugged looking couch.  "You want your fix, right?" 

 

"I wann fuck him too," another called from the floor.

 

"I don't.." Ian swallowed.  "I don't want to." 

 

The guy with his arms around Ian bristled.  "You want your stuff, you'll do what we say." 

 

Mickey jumped onto the landing- taking three stairs in one leap- and pointed his gun directly at the man's (Mickey assumed it was Johhny) head.  "Get the fuck away from him."

 

Johnny chuckled, stepping away from Ian, but keeping his hands on the redhead's shoulders.  "Hey, we're just playin' around.  Ian knows we're playing.  Right, kiddo?"  He squeezed Ian's shoulders, causing him to wince. 

 

"Y-yeah, sure.  Just playing." 

 

"Besides," Johnny went on, as if Ian hadn't spoken, "he knows what he has to do to get what he needs.  Right, buddy?  You don't mind.  S' all you're good for:  fuckin' and getting high.  Right?" 

 

"Shut the fuck up," Mickey barked, moving closer.  "Get your grimy paws off 'im." 

 

Johnny held up his hands, backing away from Ian.  

 

"Gallagher, get over here," Mickey instructed.  Ian blinked at him.  "Now!" 

 

Ian scurried over beside him. 

 

"Hey," Johnny said nonchalantly, smirking.  "You wanna deal with the addict hooker, go for it.  Take 'im off our hands." 

 

Mickey had the barrell of his gun pressed up against Johnny's temple so fast, no one had time to react.  Mickey half expected someone to pull a weapon on him, but all the men sitting around were too high to do anything but look on.  "You been pimpin' him out?  Huh?" 

 

"Hey, hey!  Listen, man.  He doesn't mind it.  He fucks a few johns, they gimme the money and I give him what the needs.  What, he family or somethin'?" 

 

Mickey pushed on his gun, he knew it would leave an inprint in the guy's skin.  "Or something."  He lowered the gun and shoved Johnny to the ground.  "Don't fuckin' come near him again.  Not with johns, not with your shit." 

 

"Hey, he came to me-" 

 

"Never again!" Mickey hollered, gun up again.  

 

Johnny put his hands up.  "Crystal clear.  Happy clients ain't worth my life." 

 

Mickey bent so he could spit on Johnny's face.  He pivoted, grabbing at Ian's arm to drag him down the stairs and out the door.  

 

****

 

"You're gonna stay with me." 

 

Ian's head lolled back.  "At your house?  With your dad?  Fat chance." 

 

They were on the El.  Mickey looked out the window at the passing scenery.  "I got a place I go to get away sometimes." 

 

"Is it shitty?"  

 

Mickey looked back at Ian, just to see the lopsided smile he knew was there.  "Yeah.  Like you fuckin' care, the filth you been slummin' it in." 

 

Ian snorted.  "You're funny."  Ian brought his hand up to his face.  "S' this mine?" 

 

"What?" 

 

"Is this my hand?  Can't feel it." 

 

"You can't feel your hand?" 

 

"Nuh-uh." He shook it, causing it to flop around. 

 

"Jesus Christ.  Okay, okay."  Mickey grabbed at it, dropping both of their hands into his lap.  "Can't you sit still for five fuckin' minutes?" 

 

Ian glanced down at their hands and back up at Mickey's face, that stupid smirk back.  "You're holdin' my hand." 

 

"Fuck off." 

 

****

 

Ian looked around the dimly lit room and flopped down on the dusty couch.  "Better than where I was stayin'.  Hey, you didn't take me back to get my stuff!  What am I gonna wear now?" 

 

Mickey went into his room, grabbed some clothes he was pretty sure had been washed recently and tossed them in Ian's direction.  "There.  Now stop your fuckin' whining and go to sleep." 

 

Ian humphed.  "Not tired." 

 

"S' like six in the morning." 

 

"Doesn't matter.  I hardly ever sleep.  When I get tired, I just shoot up again.  S' great.  I don't think I've slept in like two weeks.  It's really awesome.  I love it a lot.  I mean, I get so much done!  You wouldn't believe.  Hey, we should put some music on-" 

 

"We're not putting on any fuckin' music.  M' tired as fuck and I gotta be up in like two hours.  We're goin' to sleep." 

 

"But I can't.  You don't get it.  I try!  I really do!  But I can't.  I don't sleep, I told you." 

 

Mickey glared at him before tugging on his hair.  "Fine."  He opened the fridge.  "You hungry?" 

 

"I don't eat either." 

 

Mickey looked at him.  "Never?" 

 

"I mean like, here and there.  Not a lot.  Slips my mind.  Did I mention I forget a lot of stuff?  'Cause I do.  Like eating.  And sleeping.  Sometimes, I just wander the streets at night and forget to go home.  No one notices.  At my old house, they would've.  Hey, how's my family?  I miss them.  Lip stopped by the club the other day.  And Debs..." Ian went on. 

 

Mickey groaned inwardly.  It was gonna be a long night.

 

****

 

"Kev, I won't be in today," Mickey spoke into his phone, moving into this room when the vomiting noises got too loud in the bathroom.  "No, I can't.... Well, handle it without me.  M' not gonna fuckin' be there.  Maybe for a coupla days.  I gotta go." 

 

Ian emerged from the bathroom, wiping at his mouth.  

 

"Hey, Gallagher, I was thinking we could-" 

 

"Don't wanna do anything," Ian supplied, falling onto the couch and wrapping himself in a blanket.  He stared blankly at the wall. 

 

"Yeah," Mickey said after watching him for a minute.  "Okay." 

 

****

 

"S' cold in here.  Do you think it's cold in here?  Can you turn the heat on?  It's cold, Mickey.  M' cold.  Turn the heat up, please?  It's so cold.  M' freezing to death.  Mickey?" \

 

Mickey covered Ian in another blanket.  "That's all the blankets I got, Gallagher.  Heat's up to seventy." 

 

Ian shivered.  "Turn it to eighty." 

 

"M' sweatin', Gallagher." 

 

Ian licked his cracked lips.  "M' so cold," he said weakly.  

 

Mickey kneeled beside the couch and brushed stray locks out of Ian's eyes.  "I'll turn it up to eighty." 

 

****

 

"Mickey?" Ian called.  "Mickey?" 

 

"M' right here, Gallagher. What is it?" 

 

"Where am I?" 

 

Mickey sighed as he cupped Ian's cheek.  It was the fifth time Ian had asked this question in that last hour.  "My apartment." 

 

"How'd we get here?  I needa to go.  My shift starts soon."  He moved like he was going to get up. 

 

"No, no.  Stay.  You're not going back to that place." 

 

"I need the money."  Ian threw the blankets off of him.  "It's hot in here." 

 

Mickey pushed on Ian's shoulders until he laid back down.  "You don't need the money anymore.  M' takin' care of you."  

 

Ian blinked at him.  "Where am I?"

 

****

"How's he doing?" 

 

Mickey sighed into the phone, wishing he'd never told Lip that he had Ian.  He glanced over to where Ian was tossing and turning on the couch.  "He's sleeping.  I think." 

 

"You think?"

 

"Yeah, I dunno.  Could just be tryin' to.  He told he he hadn't slept in two weeks."

 

"How long've you had him with you?"

 

"Three days.  I think the withdrawl is wearing off, maybe.  He asked me where he was three fuckin' times today, though." 

 

"I wanna see him." 

 

"I don't think he's ready yet, man.  He still can't remember anything 'bout the helicopter or whatever shit he was into." 

 

"He's my fucking brother." 

 

"Yeah, and you didn't give a shit when he fucked off to the army in the first place." 

 

"And you did?  You're the fucking reason he left, Mickey." 

 

"And I'm also the reason he's back.  Fuck off."  Mickey smashed the end call button and threw his phone into his room, not caring where it landed. 

 

"Mickey?" Ian whimpered groggily.  

 

"M' right here, baby." 

 

"C'mere." 

 

Mickey helped Ian sit up on the couch and took a seat next to him.  

 

Ian gripped at Mickey's shirt.  "Mick.  Mick, I needa go see Johnny.  Please." 

 

"No.  Not happenin'." 

 

Tears sprung to Ian's eyes.  "I need it.  M' not me without it, Mickey.  You don't get it.  Please." 

 

"Thought you weren't an addict." 

 

"M' not." Ian shook his head resolutely.  "I could stop whenever I want.  I just don't want to yet, is all.  I need it.  Take me there." 

 

"I won't." 

 

Ian released Mickey's shirt, getting to his feet shakily.  "Then I'll go on my own." 

 

Mickey moved in front of the door.  "You'll havta go through me first." 

 

Ian got on his knees in front of the Milkovich.  "Please," he begged, clasping his hands together.  "I just need one more hit, and then I'll be fine.  Just one more time."  He dropped his head in his hands, sobbing.

 

Mickey sunk down in front of Ian, wrapping his arms around him.  "M' tryin' to fucking help you, man.  I don't wanna lose you.  Not again."  He buried his face in Ian's hair.  "I won't lose you, not to this bullshit.  I won't." 

 

****

 

Mickey woke up two days later to an empty apartment.  "Ian?" he called, knowing it would be useless.  He sighed, grabbed his wallet from the kitchen table and slammed the door on his way out.  

 

He knew where to look.  

 

****

 

He got to Johnny's just in time to hear Ian moaning the other man's name from upstairs. 

 

"Yeah, fuck me, come on."  

 

Mickey cringed and felt his stomach turn over.  He decided to wait outside.  

 

Ian came bounding down the steps about fifteen minutes later, tucking something into the pocket of his jeans.  He checked both ways once he was out the door and swerved into an alley.  Mickey walked up on his tying off his arm and tapping the vein, needle poised in his hand.  Mickey cleared his throat, causing Ian to look up and pale immediately.  "Mick, I can-"

 

"You're clean.  You are almost fuckin' clean.  So fucking close.  Don't blow it." 

 

Ian averted his eyes.

 

"Give it to me." 

 

"I just need one more hit and then-"

 

"Give. It. To. Me. Now.  Or I'm fuckin' done." 

 

Ian glared at him.  "Fuck you," he spat.  "I was doin' just fine.  Without you.  It's because of you that I started this shit to begin with.  I can't fucking cope anymore.  So fuck you." 

 

"Don't blame this shit on me, Gallagher.  You're a grown ass person.  You make decisions on your own fucking freewill." 

 

"Exactly," Ian growled.  "I don't need you."  He used his mouth to tighten the band wrapped around his upper arm.  

 

"Don't do this," Mickey pleaded. 

 

"Get the fuck away from me," Ian said heartlessly, motioning with his head. 

 

"You're sick, Ian.  This shit isn't gonna stop that." 

 

"The only sickness I ever had was you.  Replace one addiction with another."  He jabbed his vein, pushing to release the drug into his system.  He sighed.  "I'll be fine in twenty minutes." 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I KNOW I KNOW
> 
> I was thinking that like this is a cycle with them for the rest of their lives until the drug eventually take Ian's life, but I didn't want this story going on for a million centuries, so. I'M SO SORRY.


End file.
